In 2015, Claire Kilroy published an essay in the Irish arts anthology Winter Papers, F for Phone, in which she described how the birth of her son, Lawrence, three years earlier had robbed her of the ability to write: “Writing used to be the answer to all my problems – it enabled me to make something out of the bad things in my life, to use them – but now I can no longer write. So I can no longer fix my life.” Claire Kilroy has ways of phrasing things that just made lightbulbs ping on for me, such accurate descriptions, like this:

As well as the emotional dissection, Kilroy is unrestrained when it comes to the physical toll of motherhood, asking at one point, "Why the burden fall on us, the females, with our ruptured bodies?" Eat it, smoke it, stay up all night for it because the memories of the damage you wreak upon your body when you are young will sustain your spirit when you are old.” For the first nine tenths of the book this makes for very uncomfortable reading. As a man, I winced and cringed as the narrator became more desperate, and more alone.

Kilroy achieves this sense of urgency by tapping into our darkest fears and using the “rules” of the best psychological thrillers to get us invested in the people she writes about. I feared for both the mother and the child, worried some terrible fate was going to befall at least one of them, and by the time I got to the end I felt emotionally wrung out. It’s a brilliantly intense read. More memorable, though, are the grim quips, such as when comparing little girls and their confidence to her son, or herself: "But don’t worry, Sailor: you’ll still be paid more than them." Since the story is narrated from a single perspective, it's inherently biased, causing some doubts regarding the mother's recollection of certain events. Nevertheless, the agony she endures is undeniable. The reader gets an intimate glimpse into the challenging aspects of motherhood, which, to be honest, is mostly negative. Although there are moments when love for her son threatens to overwhelm her. It is, however, the novel's final part that proves particularly poignant and beautiful. You may also opt to downgrade to Standard Digital, a robust journalistic offering that fulfils many user’s needs. Compare Standard and Premium Digital here. Born in Dublin in 1973, Claire Kilroy grew up in the scenic fishing village of Howth, north of the city. Educated in the local primary school, Howth is central to two of her novels and she describes its beauty and character as fundamental to the person she became. Kilroy does not remember a time where she did not want to be an author. Her first story, written at age 7 or 8, was a ghost story centred on a child who one night decides to break into a haunted house. Once inside, the child is chased by figures wearing chains and white sheets. Kilroy gave the story to her mother who laughed hysterically; Kilroy later learned she had misspelled sheet, replacing "ee" with the letter "i", resulting in her mother's reaction. [1] Education [ edit ]

This territory is familiar for Kilroy, who published an essay, F for Phone, in 2015’s Winter Papers anthology about how she lost her ability to write, and therefore a connection to herself, after the birth of her son, Lawrence. How to sum this up? Brilliant, just brilliant! I loved this book so much. As a mother it was so utterly relatable. The intensity and relentlessness of the early days of motherhood was perfectly captured. The dark thoughts, the exhaustion, the loneliness, the feeling of being lost in a new role that is much more consuming than you expected it to be. You think this tree that shelters you is unassailable, Sailor, but look again. Even on the stillest of days, every last leaf is trembling.” That is unfortunately how society was set up in Ireland. There was no paternity leave. Alan didn’t get a day off work. There is now two weeks but low take-up, I think paternity leave should be compulsory, parental leave should be shared so it becomes a joint endeavour. I asked Sebastian Barry’s wife: did he help out? She said yes, 50:50. I think you can see that in his work. Someone who has devoted time to equality.Oh it was all so stupid. My husband would complain if his dinner was late. He would actually complain. And I would actually want to walk out. The carrots and potatoes were already peeled. I had chopped them and put them into saucepans of water while you napped. ‘When you get in the buggy, then you can play with your cars at home.’ Valerian, campion, speedwell, vetch. There are gentle things in this world. Gentle but resilient. Be one of them“

Soldier Sailor reminds me of the unfair burden placed on women to do it all and stay happy and pleasant and sweet. It's so full of turmoil — readers are dragged along Mother's emotional ups and downs — yet darkly funny in the most unexpected places. If anyone is, or has known, a Mother, I hope things get better 💖New motherhood is a seismic shift in a woman's life, of that there is no doubt. There is the you before children, and the you after children. Eventually, most women find their feet and find a space in their life that accommodates both their identity as a mother and as a individual independent of dependents, but there is a period in your life with young children where you're in survival mode. If only you could have your second child first, as my mother in law has been known to say wisely! In 2016, the Irish author Claire Kilroy revealed that she was writing a novel inspired by her fraught experience of childbirth and motherhood. Seven years on, Soldier Sailor is the novel in question, Kilroy’s fifth and her first for 11 years. Based on the clarity and subtlety of Soldier Sailor, she has been devoted in that period to refining this short book, in which not a word is wasted, to maximise its emotional and philosophical power. What brought the book down from a 3 to a 2-star rating was the general negative picture the novel paints of men. I see this often in feminist novels, where attempt to uplift a woman, or critiques of one individual man cross the line into generalized man-hate. I’m very tired of that trope. Soldiers husband clearly isn’t the picture-perfect family-husband and deserved some criticism for that, but we didn’t need to generalize this into a guilt-trip directed at all men. From constant references to “the mans-world” out there, to quips about “only a man being able to design a car-seat with straps to free their hands from the baby”, to passive aggressive advise directed to her (infant!) boy about how to respect women when he’s grown. It crossed a line from righteous annoyance to wallowing in victimhood for me. Davies, Stevie (31 August 2012). "The Devil I Know by Claire Kilroy – Review". The Guardian. Guardian News and Media . Retrieved 13 November 2014.